Zombie Apocalypse
by SwampFoxLily9
Summary: John finds a job at a seemingly innocent hospital but soon discovers it is a facility for a superhuman virus. When Sherlock gets admitted, things in London goes downhill, and Zombies appear! Eventual slash YAOI and Zombies! Rated T for now.
1. The Beginning

**Zombie Apocalypse **

By: Swampfoxlily9

**Warnings: **None so far, just misuse of the English language and mild violence. Eventual slash. A lot of angst too!

**Summary: **John finds a job at a seemingly innocent hospital, but what he doesn't know is that it is a secret facility for a superhuman virus. When Sherlock gets admitted, things go downhill in London... and Zombies appear!

Chapter One: The Job

John Watson sat in a highly uncomfortable chair as patients listlessly shuffled by. He heard the clock's hand tick ominously, adding to the unbearable silence of the waiting room. Another patient sifted by, an old woman with scraggly, long gray hair and preening gray lips. It was pure luck that John had found a job, less likely the hospital had actually _requested_ his admittance at the hospital. So here he sat, waiting aimlessly until a pretty brunette nurse called his name. She had on a plain white blouse with a pencil neck skirt, somewhat a regulatory nurse uniform. Amber hair was pinned up into a sharp ponytail and her lips shone bright crimson in the faded lights overhead.

"John Watson?" the nurse inquired, scribbling something onto her clipboard nonchalantly.

"Um, yes. I'm here to see... ah..." He paused a moment, trying to recall the name of the doctor that had requested his presence at the hospital.

"Doctor Russell?" the nurse answered, her thick lips pulling into a gentle smile. He laughed breathily, grinning at her with an appreciative glance. She motioned him to follow down a long, blank corridor filled with white doors and clear plane glass windows. John stole a glance inside, and then gazed with mystified horror as patients with blood stained gowns lay restrained in their beds, helplessly screaming wordless sounds. The nurse caught John's expression, patted him, assuring that this was the infirmary for the Insane and Mental- but to the ex-doctor it seemed highly unlikely. "The restraints are for the patient's safety. They are quite loony."

They walked until a blank white door with 'Keith Russell, M.D' inscribed on the door appeared. It was tall and ominous looking as the nurse turned the brass doorknob and nudged him inside the room. He almost fell as his feet met the carpet- then his eyes caught those of the doctors. The medical director was studious looking, tall and light haired. He had a pleasant slope of the chin, with highlighted stubble blotching across his face. In a word, he was friendly looking enough. The man grasped John by the shoulder and guided him to a leather chair, quick and astute-like.

"So you're John Watson, eh?" Dr. Russell rumbled out, his dark baritone voice echoing throughout the silent room. John nodded, warily eyeing the slightly odd Medical director. He was getting strange vibes from his seat, and then winced inwardly as his phone went off, playing Sherlock's ringtone.

'_He's _my_ best friend, best of all best friends! Do you have a best friend too-?' _

"Excuse me, Dr. Russell; I have to take this phone call..." John murmured an apology as he answered the phone, a furious tone readily awaiting Sherlock. "Yes?" he asked angrily.

"John. I need your assistance on a case involving-" John huffed into the phone, and interrupted Sherlock in mid-sentence. Here he was, trying to get a job to pay rent and Sherlock was cavorting about flaunting his god like intelligence. John collected his anger, breathed slowly and answered Sherlock in the nicest, more sincere tone he could muster.

"Sherlock, I'm at a job interview. Could you call later?" Sherlock's indistinguishable sigh of an oncoming fit was heard as John hung up before he could answer. This was not the place and not the time for one of Sherlock's little temper tantrums, especially in front of his new boss. Dr. Russell smiled heartily, pushed his papers that littered the desk aside and pulled out some admission forms. He took one pen from a cup on the desk and handed it to John, then handed the lot to John for signing. "When can I start?" John inquired, absentmindedly signing the forms as the ex-doctor brushed away a few loose strands of hair away.

"Next Monday would be brilliant if you can. Nurse Jackman will show you the official uniform we wear. I'll see you on next Monday, then. Goodbye, Mr. Watson." Dr. Russell shook John's hand strongly, and the retired doctor left smiling, content with the satisfaction of a job-well done. He walked out the room into the blanch corridor, the doors suddenly dark and splattered with flecks of chipped paint. A sense of curiosity riled up inside his mind, thoughts turning back to the patients who had been restrained in their bed. John scooted over to one of the white doors, eyes taking in the sights of a patient curled up in her bed, shaking violently and convulsing- blood seeped out of both her corneas. It was a ghastly visor, and he flipped around and dry wretched. How inhumane.

A nurse with the same uniform as the other came around the corner and asked John what the matter was, but he simply said he had nothing to eat and was leaving. John left as soon as he recovered from the incident- then remembered Sherlock had called him. He might as well call back and apologize for being an arse- it was the most sensible thing he could do at the moment. With his phone in hand, he dialed Sherlock's number and waited for the usual quip of witty comments and was rewarded with a quick, 'Sherlock speaking.'

"Hey, Sherlock. I just wanted-"

"No need to, John. I deduce that you have witness something traumatic and feel like apologizing for your ignorant mistake of hanging up on me. All is forgiven, dear Watson." John could practically here the smirk in Sherlock's tone and sighed with patience.

"Yes, Sherlock. Listen, I have a job and I'm going to start working next Monday." Sherlock grunted in a dismissible gruff, and John could tell this did not please the consulting detective a bit. Well, at least this terrible job paid the rent and some other vital necessities for life. He had to eat, of course- and so did Sherlock and they had to have clothes too. Sherlock's older brother Mycroft had offered to pay, but John declined. He was determined to prove that he could take care of his flatmate and himself.

"John... are you coming home? I'm bored. Entertain me." Sherlock suddenly broke John's train of thought, and he couldn't help but smile at the fact Sherlock was bored _already_ with his assigned case.

"Yes, Sherlock. I'm be there in a moment." John said and then hung up as a taxi passed and stopped by the curb. He climbed inside, seated himself and gave his address to the cabbie. The drive was in silence until the taxi reached 221B Baker Street- he thanked and paid the driver and entered the building. Mrs. Hudson greeted John with a warm pat on the back and offered him some crumpets and biscuits. He said no, shrugged off his coat and went upstairs to the living area. Sherlock was there, in one of his trances- his hands pressed together in a silent prayer and eyelids closed. John briskly walked over to the relaxing highly functioning sociopath and poked his cheek. He did not stir, only gave a little gasp.

"Sherlock... I'm home." John whispered, silently debating if Sherlock was relaxing or just asleep. "Hello, earth to consulting detective..." He did not move once again, and John smiled as he thought of something that would wake Sherlock up. Ice cold water-

"I'm awake John, so don't even try." Sherlock spoke aloud, making John grin with an understanding look. They both stared at another for quite some time, an odd feeling rising in the room. It was almost like they both had some kind of telepathic bind- or at least Sherlock did, that made him read John like a book. The ex-doctor walked to the kitchen and decided to cook something for them to eat or for him if Sherlock was in the mood. Which he probably wasn't.

"Sherlock, are you hungry?" John asked, taking out a flat pan from the cabinet and setting it on the stove, heating it up.

"Yes, in fact. Boredom really is tedious and takes up my mental space." Ignoring that last bit, John took some eggs from the fridge and rice; put them aside as he pulled out a knife and some vegetables. He sliced up some red bell peppers, onions and added them to the mix of eggs and rice. With all the ingredients stirred and in a bowl, he poured the concoction into the pan and watched as it sizzled with content. (^.^ John cooks well, right?) When a few minutes passed, he took the rice with a spatula and churned it up. It smelled delicious, which had Sherlock drifting into the kitchen with a delighted smile.

"Smells wonderful, John..." Sherlock deduced, and John idly contemplated the compliment.

"Thank you, Sherlock." John replied softly, placing his half and Sherlock's rice unto 2 separate plates. They both took their plates and sat down at the table, no experiments in sight much to John's relief. And there was no head in the fridge either, John had recalled. This day was not actually a bad one in John's book. Sherlock had probably cleaned up to make up to John, and he did not mind one bit. The consulting detective picked and chewed at his food, sighing in happiness as he indulged in John's wonderful cooking. This was a surprise to Sherlock, simply because John never cooked for any occasion.

After dinner, they sat down on the couch to watch the telly, and John realized Sherlock had seated himself as close to John as he could manage. It bothered him to no end, finally he was about to shove the man off himself- but Sherlock- that bastard- was already asleep on John's shoulder. His thick eyelashes touched high cheekbones with grace and his pink, full lips jutted out almost like a childs, inviting him to mingle... He could feel himself dipping down lower to Sherlock's level, going completely on autopilot at that moment until his phone rang out.

'_Oh, you're so gay and you don't even like boys, like boys~'_

From what John knew, it was simply karma speaking as he answered the phone with a quick snap. "Hello, John Watson speaking?"

It was Greg Lestrade. "Hey, is Sherlock there? He hasn't replied to my texts." John told Greg with a devious tone that Sherlock was in fact at the flat, but currently asleep. "He'll talk to you tomorrow, I promise." John assured, giving a short goodbye as he hung up on the detective inspector. A long silence followed after the quick talk with Lestrade and then Sherlock beneath him mumbled and threw himself over John. They fell together on the couch, leaving them in a very uncomfortable position. Sherlock lay sprawled out against John's stomach- his knees rubbing awkwardly with Sherlock's crotch. This... was going to be a long night.

The ex-doctor shifted from under the sociopath's warm embrace and casually slipped against the back of the couch, not wanting to wake the other man from slumber. He barely got enough sleep as it is, and if Sherlock woke up he'd never go back to sleep. So John sucked it up and sighed as Sherlock's arms wrapped themselves around his waist, completely debilitating John from escape.

**Author's Note:** Heh... well, how'd you guys like that one? Was it pleasing? I found it actually fun to write, since this is my first Sherlock!fic. So, I love John's choice of ringtones...

Here's the list, just in case you want to know:

**Best Friend- Toy Box**

**Ur So Gay- Katy Petty **

Please leave reviews! I love constructive criticism, but no flames! I will use them to make my famous French toast waffles! ^.^ Oh, and more blood, slash and guns to come in the next chapters... :D

Until next time!

–Swampfoxlily9 out!


	2. A New Patient

**Zombie Apocalypse **

Chapter 2- First Day on the Job

**New OC, Mag. Still a Johnlock! Slash zombie fic, I promise.**

John Watson woke to find himself alone in bed, curled over a white duvet in his bedroom. The sun was blanched and bright as he got up and checked the digital clock- 07:00 in bright crimson letters. Work started at 09:00, so he had about an hour to get ready and start his new job at the hospital. He rose up off the bed and clamored over to the bureau, picked out a pale green button blouse and a pair of denim jeans then went to the bathroom. As John was about to pass the doorway, he spotted Sherlock resting on the couch with fingertips splayed across his defined chest, basking in the morning's rays. It was certainly a sight to behold, John murmured to himself, as he watched Sherlock's chest rise and fall silently. The sun seemed to catch the pale crème orb that surrounded his flatmate, and it was utterly breath-taking.

John shook his head in defiance, silently muttering that Sherlock was not in the least breath-taking, especially since he barely took care of himself- barely ate, barely slept, with other complications that took hours to list. He shut the bathroom door, stripped down and stepped inside the warm embrace of the shower's spray. It caressed his aching muscles and tendons, releasing all the stress that had compiled over the short span of weeks. With some unneeded vigor, he splashed some shampoo over his hair and scrubbed it, hurriedly washing away the shampoo as his phone buzzed from somewhere outside the shower.

"Sherlock! Can you get that?" John asked over the roar of the shower, and then was surprised to see the consulting detective by the doorway, earnestly watching John from afar. "God, Sherlock, have you no shame?" John blushed furiously, pulling the curtain over his tanned body from the opposing side's eyes.

"No. That is a human emotion, John. As I deduce, you are going to your job and need assistance with your phone?" Sherlock smirked as John merely waved to his trouser on the bathroom tiles and then to his pockets. His flatmate looked down at the pile of clothes, and then fished out the mobile and pressed call. "Hello, Sherlock speaking?" John observed as Sherlock began talking in a very fluid, timely manner, as if he had all the time in the world. It irritated the military doctor to no end.

He waited awhile until Sherlock finished his call 10 minutes later. "Who was that?" he asked as he turned off the shower nozzle.

"Your boss, obviously. He requires you assistance at an earlier hour, at 08:00 per say." John's eyes widened as he looked at the clock. It was nearly 07:45- and he was going to be late on his first day! Without thinking, he stepped outside the bath and ushered Sherlock out, not caring that his arse was on full display to Sherlock's pleasure. It had a nice, roundly shape- masculine, but not too much demeanor. John fumbled with the door, then slammed it shut dressing as fast as he could manage. The attire was suitable, in John's eyes as he took a quick look in the mirror. His hair was messy and churned- so he raked a comb across the dirty blonde collaboration and set off to his new job.

On John's way out, Sherlock, who was now an emotionless rock on the sofa waved a solemn goodbye to his flatmate and _wished_ him luck? It surprised the military doctor; Sherlock was usually opposed to any ideas that involved his presence absent, especially concerning his ever fevorent dates. He exited the building and hailed a cab, then instructed the cabbie to the hospital. It was a short drive, giving John a huge sigh of relief as the clock stated 07:51. He left the cab, being a gentleman by giving the taxi-driver a tip of notes.

The hospital seemed to loom over John in an ominous manner as he entered the building, only to find it even more captivating than last week. It had an arable tone, almost menacing when John stepped through the spliced doors- into a bleak, white endless room. The walls seemed to bleed white, it was everywhere and even the nurses appeared to bleed white with their uniforms. He walked up to the reception desk and confronted a pretty blonde with a white, pearlescent smile. She smiled with some passive emotion, asked his name and for his badge. He answered and showed his badge then went to an isolated room to change.

His uniform was light blue, with normality seeping all over the cloth. It was very official looking- and he suited up, pulling the blue cloth over his body and buttoned the small almost sad buttons up. Once John had put his uniform on, he checked a clipboard by the door that stated his first patient. The lettering was scrawled in small, petite cursive that made it indistinguishable. There was an N, then an o, and was that a q? Sighing in frustration, he made his way out the room and looked for the room number that contained his patient. 103, clearly written on the clipboard.

99, 100, 101, 102-

"Finally!" he whispered, pushing the door open to find a young male dressing in a hospital gown on the berth. He had small, peevish curly black hair and solid white eyes. John gaped at the small child, awestruck at the sight of the hollow white eyes. The young adolescent appeared to be completely blind in his medical stature. "Hello, I'm Doctor Watson. You are... err...?" he asked weakly.

"Mag. My name's is Mag. Are you my doctor?" the small child asked, his vacant eyes never leaving the spot on the floor

"Yes, I am. What seems to be the problem, Mag?" he inquired, clicking his pen in a mannerly fashion. The boy opened his mouth to speak, but shut it completely as if commanded to. John observed from a medical viewpoint that he possibly suffers from schizoid tendencies, but not for a young child. Well, kids do have certainly wild imaginations, he thought tenderly to himself.

"I... can't see anymore. The people here are bad, they gave me stuff that made my head hurt... it hurts in my mind." Mag pointed to his head, then shuffled his feet.

"How are these... people bad?" John asked, lifting his chin in an incurious fashion. He wanted to know more about the staff- and what sort of medication they gave this child to make his head hurt. Mag's white opulent eyes never left the floor as he began to speak, rubbing his hands over the rough texture of the berth.

"They... tied me to a hard, cold thing. It really hurts my back- I can feel sharp things poking in my hand. I tell them to stop, it hurts, but they say, 'It's all right, Mag. We're only taking blood samples.' I know they are lying- then after that, I couldn't see. My mommy says it was only an accident, but I don't believe her." He finished by stabbing his hand into the hard surface of the berth, a blank expression set on his clear fascia. Anger bubbled inside John- were these people insane? Testing on young children? He could see why he earned such a modest paycheck- it was commandeered by soliciting children's health.

John took a moment to clear his throat, taking on a more professional act, then smiled at Mag. Mag merely sat there, awaiting the questions that were to come. "Mag... are you in any pain?"

"No, sometimes my head hurts. That's pretty much it." Mag answered, twirling his fingers.

"Do you have audible hallucinations, as in hearing things that aren't there?"

Mag looked terrified at the question, his hand curling back into his crossed leg. Eyes blanched and lips trembling; Mag reached out and took John's hand, squeezing it as if trying to read the doctor's face by his pulse. "Always, Doctor John... I hear screaming in a room and a man... he's in pain..." Tears threatened to fall as Mag continued his auditory journey. "He's crying, and saying..." The young childs eyes dilate, the nothingness expanding from white irises. "... he says, _John. John, help. I'm hurt, help. Please_... over and over again." John watched as Mag wipes away his tears with the base of the hospital gown.

"Yes, quite. In this, can you see who the man is?" John was nearly at the edge of tears as he mind silently screamed Sherlock, _Sherlock_. The young boy doesn't say anything after that, only sits and watches the floor with a vacant, empty expression plastered on his face. The military doctor glanced at the clock over on the wall and saw it was 10:00. Mag looked up at the ceiling and sighed in expiration. They both were silent for awhile, until the blind child bolted up and took John by the hand.

"I heard his name, Doctor John! His name... is... Sher... Sherlo..." Mag smiled at John. "He says, _Where's John? It's Sherlock_..." Mag looked at the cabinet and grinned like he had won the lottery. John patted the child on the back, a tiny sliver of strange anxiousness welling up inside him. Sherlock was in danger? How did this child he never met knew his flat mate's name? It was turning out to be a certainly queer order of events. The time passed slower as they continued their discussion, John discovering small details of the staff and their odd ways of taking 'blood samples.' From Mag's perspective, all the doctors except for John were the bad guys- trying to turn everybody into experiments with the strange blood withdrawals.

"Okay. Mag, I'll see you again tomorrow, alright?" John spoke after a quick glance at the time, noting some small things with his pen and clicked it with resignation. Mag hopped off the berth and took John's hand as a child would do with a mother in a crowded area. "Where's your mum?" John asked as he led Mag down the hallway to the reception area. There were no people in sight, only the strange receptionist filing her nails and yapping on the telephone.

Mag stared at the ground for a moment before answering, silently taken away in thought. "I don't know. She was here, I think. I heard her voice, she tells me, 'Bye, Mag.' And then I hear your voice." For a moment, John thought the mother had left to go run an errand, but after waiting past 12:00 there was no scurrying mother in frantic looking for her missing child. John went to the receptionist's desk and tapped on it lightly with his pen.

She looked up, her ambivalent smile almost preening off shiny pink lips. "Yes, Doctor Watson?" her voice was full of serenity and a touch of flirtatiousness, something he had no time for.

"Um... do you know where Mag's mother is?" The blonde glanced down at the child and shook her head.

"I haven't seen this boy, to be truthful. And I didn't see a crazed mum either." The receptionist went back to filing her nails and grinning provocatively at the doctor between brief moments of flipping her hair. John smiled, and then took Mag to go see his boss, Keith Russell. Maybe he could get some information from the medical director. When he arrived, he knocked and heard a silent, 'Enter!' With Mag by his side, he went inside to find Keith busily typing on his laptop.

"Dr. Russell, do you know where Mag's mother is?" Keith looked up briefly, and then continued his typing on the laptop.

"I don't think this boy has even been admitted here, to be honest." Dr. Russell replied hurriedly, eyes never leaving the screen. John nodded in affirmation, and then left the busy Doctor to tend to his business. "Here," Keith said before John had reached the doorway. "Take the rest the day off, my treat. Bye, Dr. Watson."John took Mag out of the office and out of the medical building to a bench beside the white blanchedness of the hospital.

"Mag, hold my hand and hold on. I have to call somebody." Mag nodded in acknowledgement, his dark curls bouncing freely off his small head. John took out his mobile and dialed Sherlock's number, knowing the outcome of what he had in store for his flatmate.

"Sherlock speaking."

"Hey, Sherlock. Just to warn you, I'm bringing over someone later." John could hear Sherlock's huff of disapproval.

"If it's a woman, please be courteous next time you affiliate her-" John coughed loudly, muting out Sherlock's rant of sexual quietness as he waited until he finished his temper tantrum.

"Yes, Sherlock. Bye." John said after long moments of silence between the two. He glanced over to Mag, the young blind boy staring fixatedly on the concrete sidewalk. The doctor squeezed his hand gently, earning a smile from the youngling and a reciprocated squish of the palm. "Want to get some ice cream?" he asked, leading the boy over to an ice cream stand.

"Yes, thank you, Vanilla please." John ordered a vanilla and a chocolate, and then paid for the two. He handed Mag a crème beige cone topped with fluffy ice cream, then gave him a napkin just in case. They walked the remainder of the way home, earnestly licking the ice cream and maintained a brief continuation of their conversation from earlier. When they reached John's and Sherlock's flat, he discarded the rest of ice cream in a trash bin- then laughed when he saw Mag's face. It was covered with vanilla. John wiped his face, and then threw away the napkin away.

The air was much warmer as they entered the building, and Mrs. Hudson's' face warmly greeted them. She took one look at Mag and immediately fell in love.

"Who's this adorable deary?" she asked sweetly, kissing Mag on the cheek then did the same to John.

"Mag, my patient from the hospital. He currently doesn't have a mom at the moment so I'm filling in until she's found." Mrs. Hudson gaped at John for a moment and then left him to go upstairs to find Sherlock screeching violently on his violin. Mag covered his ears almost mechanically, shying into John's coat as the screeching increased in volume. "Sherlock, please, we have a guest! Mind that blasted violin of yours." He yelled, then the auditory assault ceased. Sherlock came down from the hallway, sulking as ever with his violin nowhere in sight. He took a glance at the child hidden away in John's coat and narrowed his eyes.

"A child, John, really I expect more from you. Hmm. Let's see... I deduce that this child has no mother, blind and-" Sherlock walked over to John, eyeing him almost in a predatory manner, looking at the young boy concealed within his coat. "You had chocolate ice cream." Sherlock took his thumb and wiped away a smudge of ice cream from John's lips, making the military doctor blush harshly and try to regain his composure.

"Yes... ahem, I did, thank you Sherlock for pointing that out to me. Oh, this is Mag. He's staying with us until I find him mum." Sherlock shook his curls, disagreeing through a look of stance.

"Alright John, just keep away from the experiments and the vicinity of my bedroom." Sherlock flopped on the couch, turning on the telly and watched as a murder report came upon the television screen.

The announcer looked dramatically into the screen, and then spoke as a picture depicting a young woman with dark curly appeared. "Today, in early London, a woman named Julia Neeson was brutally murdered outside of St. Richards Hospital. No comments on the cause of the incident have been reported." The news changed to some sports introduction, immediately losing the interest of the consulting detective.

Mag ran from under John's coat and nearly bumped into Sherlock as he went near the telly. "That's my mommy's name, it was Julia." He sobbed, his small knobby knees buckling from underneath him. His white irises gleam with tears as John rushed over and hugged the small boy, gently brushing his curls away from his face.

"Sh..., it's alright. You'll be fine. I promise you, Mag, we'll..." His eyes met Sherlock's in a quick fashion, a sympathetic look plastered on Sherlock's features. The detective motioned him over, and John with Mag curled in his embrace leaned into Sherlock's open arms. They stayed like that for quite some time, and somehow Sherlock's hand found John's hair then stroked it absentmindedly. The news reports were many to come, Sherlock had realized, but the culprits of the crime were not those of the normal killers.

Something else was lurking in the shadows.

_ CLIFFHANGER! _

**Authors Note:** Ah, good ol' cliffy. Well, I certainly didn't expect that to happen. I just added an OC! It seems we will have an addition to the Holmes family. I promise this will be a zombie fic with guns and slash! Just have patience, por favor!So... please reviews, I live for them! Until next time, my faithful reviewers and readers alike! 


	3. Zombies Emerge

**Zombie Apocalypse **

By: Swampfoxlily9

**Warnings: **Now entering the fluffy, slashy and violence-y area of Johnlock fics. Ye are warned, for slash is ahead and it is very gory and blood-tastic. Angst.

Chapter 3- Zombies Emerge from the Shadows

It was another sweltering day in late fall, and Sherlock was sprawled across his bed, curled up with young Mag and John on each sides of his emaciated body. Mag was staring blankly up at the ceiling, and John had laced his fingers through Sherlock's and was currently tracing circles on his stomach. Perspiration slid off Sherlock's navel, and the army doctor brushed the droplets away tenderly. Mag got up from his position on the bed with an expressionless face- and reached out to feel for John's hand. The child spread his fingers across the bed sheets and felt thin, calloused digits instead. Sherlock, who now had noticed pressure on his palm, glanced up at the sight depraved child and brought him close into a warm embrace.

"He's so quiet." Sherlock murmured, keeping an eye on their new edition to the flat. Mag's lifeless white eyes remained fixated on the ceiling; eyelids wide open in a strange manner. His eyes seemed to glare through the blunt ceiling unto the vast deepness of the sky. A beep from across the bedroom on the side table brought their serene time to a halt, a message from Lestrade no doubt.

"Sherlock, go get that." John asked, nudging his colleague off the bed. Sherlock got up quietly and picked up his phone. His piercing eyes ran over the text from Lestrade, noting the urgency of the message with fevorence.

_**Woman, mid twenties outside a hospital. Dead this morning please assist.**_** -GL **

Mag's mother, Sherlock deduced immediately, quickly snapping the phone shut and slipping it into the waistband of his trousers. "John." He whispered, curling his hand dearly around his flat mate's shoulder. John almost flinched at the tender notion, startled by the gentleness of the touch from his normally cold Sherlock.

"Yes, Sherlock?" The army doctor asked, allowing Mag to slip inside his open arms.

"I have a case that requires my assistance. I regret to say, but it does not require you. Mag needs to be taken care of, and we cannot string him along to a murder case." Sherlock stated, observing the way John's eyes constricted and eyes fluttered. _Nervous? Afraid? Angry that I excluded him from a case?_ His mind sped through many scenarios, a millions possibilities entering his head and quickly deporting into his recycle bin. Hopeful that one of the possible outcomes he had hypothesized would work, he gave John a deep, throated kiss on the neck, playfully nipping at the vein prodding from the darkened skin. John moaned deliciously, arching upwards into the kiss.

He heard a small squeak from below and suddenly realized that Mag was squished between the two. "Sherlock! Mag is still on the bed!" John chastised, pulling the detective off his sweating body. Sherlock growled unappreciatively, silently giving the army doctor the look that simply said I-am-thinking-very-naughty-thoughts and stormed off, slamming the bedroom door. John rolled his eyes, laughing at his lover's temper tantrum. Mag suddenly jumped up from the bed, a still emotionless look wiped across his features. An unsettling whine from Mag rose into the air, and the blind kid reached out a small, pudgy hand towards John's face, prodding it with urgency.

"Doctor John, where is...Sherlock?" Mag inquired, the name of his lover rolling off Mag's tongue in a very conical fashion.

"He's gone to solve a case, Mag. Lay down and rest." John said, grasping Mag's tiny hand with gentleness.

"No... Something is not right Doctor John- I heard his name just now. He sounded sad, like he's hurt. He says, 'John_, please_. _Call My_... I can't say his name, it's too hard... _My, Mycrof-t?'_" John recognized the name immediately, the name of Sherlock's elder brother shooting through his head. No way could Mag have known Mycroft's name, unless he had overheard Sherlock (scolding) his older brother, but that was highly unlikely. Sherlock never called Mycroft unless it was a threat of national security or when he needed to rant. One question still remained in his head, _why was Mag still having these strange hallucinations?_ Sherlock had never ended up hurt, or worse...

Maybe it was just a coincidence, but John still had his doubts. Maybe Mag was reacting to the death of his mother, but the blind child had known Sherlock even before the two met. Suddenly, John's phone buzzed from across the room on the desk. He rose up and saw that the caller I.D. was none other than the Holmes' elder brother Mycroft. John answered with fevorence, noting the abrupt sound of his heartbeat.

"Hello?" At the end of the line was a sharp inhale of breath, and then a voice laced with hesitation and apprehension spoke.

"John. Sherlock has been in an accident." Mycroft whispered. The tone was presented as emotionless, but John saw a frightened, cowering man inside that voice. Now, the army doctor couldn't breathe, thoughts of Sherlock splattered against the pavement, or Sherlock covered in thick blood, air escaping his lungs in short gasps. The air was insufficiently thinning, rending the man breathless. John knew what was happening; he was experiencing a panic attack. One that completely immobilized his lungs and made his legs turn to gelatin.

"Come to the hospital." Mycroft spoke in short, choppy words and hung up without any sort of recognition of John's presence.

John immediately went to the closet and dressed accordingly, throwing on a blue jumper and tossing Mag a pale, white cardigan. The white article billowed and smacked Mag in the face, and John silently cursed at himself. Mag was obviously blind and could not catch. They left as soon as Mag was properly clothed, and caught a cab to the hospital Sherlock currently resided in.

A soft, palpable silence settled over the two as they rode to the hospital. As the taxi arrived in the driveway, John grabbed Mag's hand, paid the Cabbie and ran towards the double doors. Dark, ominous clouds started to settle and form and rain poured from above, small drops splashing against the hot pavement. John dashed towards the receptionist's desk with Mag trailing behind.

"Sherlock Holmes," he almost yelled, breathless and nearly collapsing from sheer adrenaline.

The receptionist looked up quaintly, a beautiful blonde dusted with freckles and pretty cerulean eyes. She smiled at him, and then asked him politely what sort of association he had with Sherlock. John pondered this a moment. Since they had kissed, and literally lain in the same bed as one another, would he be considered his... boyfriend? Sherlock's boyfriend?

"Personal friend, and what room is he in?"

"Room 103, to your left and it's on the end." He thanked her, and found the room as soon as possible. The door stood ajar, a little splice of light spreading on the floor, and with Mag in hand John entered. Sherlock was spread across the bed, a bloodied face covered with bruises. His eyes were swollen red, radiating an almost a nostalgic glow amidst the rainy setting.

"God, Sherlock..." John whispered, walking solemnly over the motionless body and intertwining his fingers with the others. He knelt over and felt for Sherlock's badgered face, pressing thin fingers against the warm flesh, giving a sigh as he sensed a presence behind him. Mag reached for John's hand, silently agreeing that they both were worried about the Consulting Detective.

Sherlock's eyelids shifted a bit, hinting that he was arousing from a state of unconsciousness. A bright, grey eye peered from beneath an eyelid and Sherlock's deep baritone voice reverberated off the wall. "John... Mag... You're... here."

"Yes, Sherlock. Oh what happened to you?" He asked softly, settling comfortably on the bed.

"I don't... remember. I was at the crime scene when Lestrade called from behind me, then I was attacked. There was a face... it appeared to be Mag's mother."

"Wasn't she murdered-"Sherlock interrupted John before he could finish.

"Precisely, John. She was _dead. _It seems we have the dead walking among us." John lightly scoffed at this. There was no way in hell there were _zombies, _inanimate bodies stalking the streets of London. But evidently Sherlock was attacked by a fucking zombie. No, he wasn't mugged or hit by a car, or in a tragic accident. A zombie came up from behind and gave his best mate and lover a nice beating.

"That isn't possible, Sherlock. You must-"

"No, John. I'm positive on what I saw. It was Mag's mother, hallowed eyes and blank expression. Much like Mag." John failed to take the joke, because Sherlock rarely ever implied humor in his vocabulary. This created an awkward silence between the three, Mag being quiet as always and Sherlock scowling through his swollen eyes. John hated to admit but he was quite worried that if this "zombie" was an actual zombie, Sherlock might follow in its path. An image of Sherlock with a rotting face and inarticulate features appeared in his head, but he pushed those pictures out.

"Well, Sherlock, we have to find out if this was an act of cancerous cells or a routine beating from some bloke in street." John finally said, brushing away some curls plastered on Sherlock's forehead. He leaned over and pressed firm lips against his best friend's cheek, then brought Mag close to his body. "Sherlock... promise me you'll be okay." He muttered, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Sherlock nodded, a silent promise forming blossoming between the two flat mates.

They left Sherlock to go out for dinner, and the occasional text from Sherlock kept them in high spirits. Mag and John had decided to go get some Italian food, and then stop by the ice cream parlor earlier visited in their first commute to home. With warm leftovers in hand and vanilla ice cream, they walked until they reached an abandoned park. The swings were covered in the mist of the rain shower, and the slides had a murky puddle forming at the base of the playground equipment. A figure slipped past the shadows and hid among the climbing rocks, observing the twosome from afar. It had pealing features, blood stained teeth with meat splotches freckled across its features. A throaty moan escaped it mouth, inhaling the scent of fresh meat clinging in the air. Its eyes went directly towards the weaker of the two, a small apparition hugging the taller one with neediness.

"Doctor John... will Sherlock be okay?" Mag said, hurling himself deeper into John's jumper.

"Yes, he will. I know it."

Still, the figure drags closer, eyes disgustingly blanched yellow and glowering in the incandescent light given off by the lamps. John and Mag went over to the bench far right of the park, leaving the eerie playground alone in the sinking sunlight. As they watched the sun set beneath purple and golden red clouds, John reached for his phone to check anymore messages from Sherlock, but instead feels a cold barrel of a gun in his pocket. Hot damn he had a gun- and he didn't even recall putting it in there.

"I put it in there." Mag spoke, a wispy, delicate tone pleasant to John's ears. He couldn't believe it. A small child had located something he had kept well hidden and slipped it into his back pocket without notice. This child was certainly one and a million.

Now the figure was not 2 feet behind John and Mag, still eyeing the young one with a relish for meat. Its trembling fingers clasped the air, and came up from aside the bench and grasped Mag's cardigan. Mag took no notion of this, dismissing the touch as John's. But he was beside him, earnestly slurping on something.

"John..." he uttered, seizing John's palm. The action was quick and fevorent, indicating something was wrong.

"What's up- OH GOD!" John cried, eyes meeting the face of a rotting, ugly zombie thing. It was tall and had womanesque features, with dried frizzled hair curled and lips dotted with blood and flesh. Its skin was a horrible green color, flaking and oozing liquid from every orifice. John immediately pulled out his colt revolver and aimed it at the monster, pushing Mag underneath the bench. "Get away or I'll shoot!" he yelled, thrusting the gun forwards toward the assailant. The zombie only lurched forward, eager for the taste of flesh and hunger ebbing away.

John breathed in and pulled the trigger. The bullet dove in straight between the eyes and the zombies brains splattered against the benches backside, coating it in a mosaic of skull fragments and jelly-like substances. The resonation of the gun still hung in the air as John straightened himself out and put his gun away. "I'm beginning to believe Sherlock was correct of his assumption on the zombie thing, Mag." He huffed as he pulled Mag from underneath the bench, carefully avoiding the mass of brains on the bench. So there were zombies lurking in London. The Zombie Apocalypse was drifting closer and closer.

_DUN DUN DUUUUUN... _

**Author's Note:** Major cliff hanger. How will Sherlock survive the mysterious hospital? Will John and little Mag make it to home to safety? All will be told in the next chapter. I don't know how long it will take but it's coming soon. Review because it's necessary for Sherlock's survival or I will turn him into a zombie... *insert evil laugh here*


	4. Gun, Guts and Blood Splattered Clothing

**Zombie Apocalypse**

By: Swampfoxlily9

Sorry guys for not updating! School has me on a tight schedule with exams coming up...

**Warnings:** Beware of surprise BAMF!person and awesomeness.

Chapter 4- Guns, Guts and Blood Spattered Clothes

The air was stifling as John clasped Mag's hand and ran across the street from the brain splattered park. Zombies started to emerge from various corners, dragging their rotting bodies through alleys and moving towards the two. The gun in the ex-army's palm trembled with fear- god-damn he had to get to Sherlock and protect him. It seemed like eternity as the two ran and evaded dead walking things, until John had led them into a dead end (no pun intended) with zombies shortly following behind. John opened the bullet chamber and discovered he only had 3 small, glinting bullets- not enough to take down a whole horde of flesh addicts.

"Mag... we've got to find a way out, or we're toast." He whispered as more Zombies collected around them. Suddenly, from ahead they heard a cocking of a gun then the sound of metal slicing through skull and grey matter. Blood mixed with cerebral fluid sprayed up against the walls, then bullets rained down on the Zombies and they all fell into a mass of decaying bodies. From the shadows, a dark figured emerged and stepped over zombie bodies and held out a hand for little Mag. John looked through the shadows and saw- _Mycroft's_ face. He gasped, astonished as the government man took his umbrella and blew the smoke smoldering from the tip.

"Yes, John, I had an M-16 assault rifle installed into my umbrella. Come, let's go and relieve Sherlock from his predicament." John silently nodded and tightened his grip on Mag's hand, receiving a stoic expression but a strong squeeze of the hand. They walked until they reached a black limousine with the entire roof removed and a tall, mini 50 round machine gun placed at the very end. John was speechless as Mycroft began to strip his expensive suit and put on a white tank top and camouflage Capri's. He then threw a change of clothing's and told him to get changed. He complied, tossing on a grey tank top and black knee length Capri's. They then clamored into the Limo and Mycroft took control of the mini sentry gun and gave John an AK-47 with scope attachments. "John. We must hurry if we are to relieve my brother from the hospital." Mycroft tossed his head up and motioned the driver to go.

The Limo sped off into the night, interweaving in the deepest parts of London. Mycroft held onto the sentry gun and let the bullets fly, slicing through flesh and spraying the pavement with blood, entrails and bullet casings. John aimed his weapon, and knocked down Zombies by the dozens as they drove along their way to the hospital. Zombies began to horde around the Limo as they stopped suddenly, the driver not responding to their calls. Mycroft hopped down from the machine gun and checked the driver's side and cursed silently at the sight. His chauffeur was covered in thick, riveting blood and a chunk of his neck was missing and spurting veils of plasma. A zombie was currently feasting upon the man's open wound. Mycroft lifted his knee and brought it to met the flesh eaters jaw, snapping it half with a satisfying crack. He then took both hands and twisted the Zombies neck, a loud splintering sound echoing in the air.

He then opened the driver's door and pushed both bodies out and started the car. "John!" he called. John responded with a sharp reply, the sound of bullets covering up his answer. "I'm driving now! Take control of the sentry machine gun!" John drenched in sweat and with a terrified Mag clinging to him, hastily went into the seat leveled above the Limo's interior and grabbed both bars of the gun's trigger and aimed. A slight feeling of reverberation traveled along John's arm as the machine shot out tens of thousands of bullets, tearing the bodies to small, indescribable chunks of flesh. Mag held tight onto John and buried his dark, curly hair into John's chest- crying in fear and terror of the unknown.

Finally, they pulled up into the hospital's driveway and Mycroft left the driver's compartment and opened the Limo's trunk latch. He removed 2 belts, equipped with explosives and claymores ready to detonate. A large M-1897 Trench Gun followed and other weapons that looked lethal. A particular one, A Remington 870, was placed in the side of one of the belts and then it was wrapped around Mycroft's waist. "John! Come and equip yourself." Mycroft barked, and John picked up Mag and left the Limo and trotted to Mycroft. The government man handed John the belt and he copied Mycroft's action. The belt fit snuggly around his waist. Mycroft then loaded his and John's weapon with ammunition, placing extra rounds in one of his pockets.

He handed John his gun and walked up to the hospitals double doors, pushing them open and motioned John and Mag to follow. They entered, shivering as a cool, sterile aroma pervaded the air and created a hostile feeling combined with the blank, faceless walls. Mycroft crouched and covered a corner leading to Sherlock's room, and cocked his gun and thrust forward with John at his side and bust the door to Sherlock's room open. Sherlock lay on the bed; eyes closed and skin a sickly pallor color with bruises still evident. John rushed over and kissed his lover's cheek, breath shaky from the relief he received after seeing his best friend's face. Sherlock mumbled incoherently, his hands trembling with the presence of John hovering over him. His eyes opened suddenly. John gasped and backed away, falling unto the floor as Sherlock gazed hauntingly back at him- white, derelict eyes and an emotionless face. The detective reached out and felt for John and cried out when he realized he couldn't see.

"JOHN! Oh, god... I can't see..." His blanched eyes scrunched up and Sherlock fell out the bed, listlessly feeling around to touch something, _anything_. He found Mag's tiny hand touching his face, and something probing his mind. Flashes of him and John laughing together and the first time they had kissed whirled past his vision, the first time they had gone to dinner... Sherlock retched back from the blind boy and sunk into the floor. "What did they do to me...? I can't see anything..." John slowly walked over to Sherlock and picked him off the tile and brushed his fingers delicately across his lips. The detective sighed, leaning into the touch and felt John's face desperately. "Kiss me, John..." he whispered, eyes wide and unseeing. John hesitantly reached forward and brought their lips together, slipping his tongue inside the other's warm cave.

Sherlock pulled back from the brief encounter and rested his forehead against John's, seeing the world through a dark veil. Mycroft stepped across the threshold of the door and clasped his brother shoulder- a warm, strange gesture that was foreign to the said Ice Man. He turned Sherlock around and pulled him into an awkward, difficult hug that left the two in almost tears.

The Zombie Apocalypse was here. Things had changed for the worst, and the 4 were going to have to pull it together to save Humanity and everyone they loved.

To be continued...

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the short chapter! Exams are coming up and I'm going to have to put this story on more hold than I already have. Thanks for the reviews and support! Swampfoxlily9 out!


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